


The Wrong Number

by HopeForTheWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Heartbreak, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Pining, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:49:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27150679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeForTheWitch/pseuds/HopeForTheWitch
Summary: In the royal castle live King and Queen Granger with their daughter, Princess Hermione. They live there very happily, but the Queen so wishes for her daughter to find someone to date.“Well, that’s easy,” says the King.Harry is one of few winners of a lottery. He wins a ticket to elusive Hogsmeade Island, where King and Queen Granger hold three balls to find their daughter someone suitable.Au grand loto de l'univers, j'ai pas tiré l'bon numéro.
Relationships: Past Sirius Black/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Sirius Black/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nova for reading it through and pointing out some errors / confusing spots.
> 
> Note on the underage warning: this takes place the month before Harry's eighteenth birthday, meaning, he's seventeen. I meant to do something with that but forgot and by then this fic already was what it currently is, so I never went back and added any of it in.

Hogsmeade Island is a sovereign island off the coast of Scotland. 

It is both the name of the island as it is of the main settlement, the secondary settlement being a long road of farms named Diagon Road. On top of a large cliff sits Hogwarts, the magnificent royal castle.

In the royal castle live King and Queen Granger with their daughter, Princess Hermione. They live there very happily, but the Queen so wishes for her daughter to find someone to date. 

“Well, that’s easy,” says the King.

And it _is_ as easy as that. The King snaps his fingers and there the servants go, fixing his wife a series of balls to find their daughter someone suitable.

And so the story begins...

* * *

In Little Whinging, Surrey, one Harry Potter lives in the cupboard under the stairs. This is quite a large cupboard, all things considered, yet too small for him, for Harry Potter is seventeen years old and should by all means have been moved to one of the bedrooms upstairs.

Harry gets up with a groan and quietly goes and gets ready for the day. He has plenty of chores for the day, and he has school to worry about and barely any time for homework. It’s a problem. It’s always been a problem, in fact, it’s been the case since he can remember. The Dursleys don’t believe he’ll amount to anything anyway, so why bother with homework when he could be weeding their yard or making them some money by weeding someone else’s yard?

He prepares breakfast, making sure to have it ready just in time for his relatives to come downstairs. They barely look at it as they prepare for their days, Uncle Vernon by reading the papers, Aunt Petunia by going over the list of chores of the day, and Dudley by smacking his stick anywhere it will reach.

“Get the mail, boy,” Uncle Vernon tells Harry.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” he says flatly, but not _too_ flat or there would be words to be had, and he walks the short distance to the hallway to get the mail. 

There’s a letter addressed to him. 

It bears a wax seal and a crest, one with several animals around the letter H. It looks familiar to him but he can’t remember where he saw it. Thinking fast, he stuffs the letter in his oversized trousers and hands the rest over to his uncle; he’ll have a look later on.

Except.

Except the letter makes noise when he sits down, the seal breaking audibly. _Shit_.

“What was that, boy?” Uncle Vernon asks sharply, his eyes narrowed.

“Nothing, Uncle Vernon,” Harry tries, but he’s been living with his relatives for sixteen years, they know when he’s lying.

“Whatever it is, you hand it over _right_ now.” Uncle Vernon’s voice is dangerous.

Harry cringes, but does as told, his hand a little shaky when he shows his uncle the letter. Uncle Vernon angrily opens the letter—it’s made of parchment, made to look dated—and as he reads, his face goes slack. “Oh my… Pet!” he exclaims. 

“What, Vernon? What does it say?” Aunt Petunia asks.

Yes, Harry would like to know so too.

“Dear—well, it doesn’t matter who it is addressed to,” Vernon adds, glaring at Harry, “Dear _Dursleys_ , we are pleased to inform you that you and your family have been selected to attend Princess Hermione’s birthday balls.”

Harry tries not to laugh spitefully at their hopeful faces. 

Everyone knows what those balls are for: Princess Hermione is looking for a husband.

The chances of her picking Dudley to marry? _Please_. Harry has a higher chance of getting Dudley’s second bedroom out of the goodness of his heart, which is to say, that’s _never_ going to happen.

“Oh, Dudders!” Aunt Petunia simpers. “Our little prince!”

Harry fights not to gag.

Then he fights not to smirk, because he knows they won’t want him to come with. If only that invitation wasn’t addressed to Harry J. Potter. They won’t be able to enter Hogsmeade Island without him.

He settles for a smile instead.

* * *

In retaliation, they make sure he’s up from morning till evening doing chores. 

If there’s nothing to be done, then they’ll _find_ something that needs to be done. One memorable moment, Dudley had almost thrown over the urn with their grandmother’s ashes just so Harry would have to clean that up. Aunt Petunia quickly put a stop to that.

But then the day comes; they depart for their four weeks at Hogsmeade Island.

They use Harry as a pack-mule, but he doesn’t care much. He’ll gladly take it if it means visiting Hogsmeade for the first and probably only time in his life. Not many people get that privilege as the island is highly private. A lot of well-off people retire there, though there are some families who have lived there for generations.

They take the car on the ferry, but once they hit the beautiful island, they’re not allowed to take it past the parking garage on the south coast. Instead, there are beautiful black horses pulling carriages everywhere.

Harry instantly falls in love with the island.

Hogsmeade Village is as charming as the rest of the island. Harry feels as though time stands still here, as though it stood still a while ago, in fact. But then he spots vehicles, and they must be from the residents themselves, and he spots electronics, and that breaks the illusion some.

They stay at a hotel called The Burrow, which is run by a family of redheads. It’s located on the edge of town, and it has an amazing view of the gardens of Hogwarts, with the castle peeking out from under the trees.

Harry wants to stay here forever.

Sadly the only way for that to happen is for him to marry someone already living on the island, and Princess Hermione—well, he’s sure she’s a nice girl, but one, he doesn’t get to go to the ball, and two, even if he did get to go, well, he’s still pretty _fucking_ gay.

* * *

The first ball is at the end of the week. Harry wanders about the island, staying out of his relatives’ hair, who are stressing out about their little Dudders and can’t be bothered to care where he spends his time. There are no asphalt roads, but if one is to look, they can find car-tracks around the island just the same. That visitors don’t get to bring their vehicles doesn’t mean that the residents have to go without.

When he’s not wandering around, he stays at the hotel and hangs out with Ron, one of the hotel owners’ sons. Ron usually works at Hogwarts’ stables, but sometimes, when he has the day off, he helps around the hotel. The owners have many sons, six to be exact, and then a daughter, Ginny. Not all of them live in Hogsmeade Village. So far Harry has met three sons and the daughter, all four who work on and off at the hotel.

“Percy works at Hogwarts,” George tells Harry on his fifth day.

“And Bill works at the bank in Diagon Road,” Fred says with his mouth full.

“Charlie works—”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” Mrs. Weasley admonishes as she rushes past.

* * *

It’s the day of the first ball and people are going crazy. Dudley and Vernon are dressed up like penguins, they look ridiculous. Meanwhile Harry’s stuck with his secondhand clothes. He sticks to town today and watches people get ready for the ball tonight.

Then, when the time comes, he watches the carriages pull up and move towards the castle, one by one disappearing into the beginnings of the evening. They’ll have dinner at Hogwarts first, then dance and drink for hours.

He didn’t expect to feel morose about not getting to go to the balls, but here he is, clenching his fist into the water of the fountain and watching the reflection of a street lantern rippling back at him, mouth twisted downward.

What’s left around him is as good as a ghost town.

Harry sighs.

“It looks like everyone in this town is happy but you.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry mutters. “Everyone’s at the ball.” He glances up from the water.

Stormy grey eyes meet green, set in a perfectly handsome face framed by dark waves, with lips that curl into a knowing smirk, the expression of a man who knows he looks gorgeous and recognises when he’s being admired. The man leans with one boot on the edge of the fountain, hands in the pocket of a band hoodie. 

“And you, are you not going? You’re late, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Harry says bitterly, “but I can’t. My family, they’ll know, and I’ll be screwed.”

“Alright,” the man says, clearly accepting that answer. “But what if they don’t know it’s you?”

Harry snorts. “What, they won’t notice me dressed like this?” He spreads his arms.

“Well, obviously we’d have to do something about,” the man gives him a once-over, “ _that_.”

* * *

The good-looking man introduces himself as Sirius Black as they walk the empty streets of Hogsmeade Village. For a reason Sirius is not willing to disclose, he’s not going to the ball either, and while Harry feels he should be wary of a stranger, Sirius is easy to get along with and soon he forgets all about that worry.

“Do you live on the island?” Harry asks.

“Oh, yes, my family has been on this island for generations,” Sirius answers. “You know, Harry, it’s a shame you’re not at the ball. They can be fun.”

Harry gives him a skeptical look, because the impression he’s got from the man doesn’t scream one who would enjoy the pressure of a formal ball. Harry wants to go only because he’s not allowed to, because now he’s curious and he wants to see what it’s all about. If not for that, he wouldn’t dream of going.

They stop to admire the main street, which has lanterns lit up in all sorts of different colours, with tinsels hanging from some of them even. It would be ridiculous if it wasn’t also so charming, fitting the aesthetic of the village perfectly.

“You know what, Harry? I’ll show you something.” 

Sirius expertly leads them around a block of buildings until they stand in a wide but darkened alley, only a single lantern for company, casting such shadows that his cheekbones look even more pronounced. 

“ _Lumos_ ,” Sirius whispers.

* * *

So turns out, magic is real.

Who would’ve thought.

Harry feels faint.

* * *

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Sirius asks and he twirls a thin wand between his fingers. Then he winks and he licks his lips. “What do you say, are you my Cinderella?” He steps closer until he’s all up in Harry’s space. “I can be your fairy godfather, Harry, get you all nice and proper for the ball. I’ll even give you a nice ride.”

Harry splutters, mind in the gutter. “My—my fairy— _what._ ”

Sirius cackles in delight.

Harry breathes a little easier when Sirius steps away from him, the smell of the man’s cologne lingering in his nostrils. “I can’t go, they’ll kill me if they see me there,” he says downtrodden.

“That’s what magic is for,” the wizard says. “Here, look.” A moment later, a beautiful black and silver mask appears in the palm of his hand. It has a large white feather on the side. “You wear this, of course.”

He takes the offered mask, inspects it carefully. It looks well-made and feels soft to the touch. “And how does it stay on? Do I glue it to my face or something?”

Sirius scoffs. “Of course not, Harry. With _magic_.” He pokes the mask with his wand. “Go on, try it on.”

Harry does, pressing it to his face, sliding it around until it feels comfortable. When he lets go, the mask sticks to his skin, thin and smooth as silk. He makes several faces but it doesn’t hurt at all, no matter what he does. “Wicked,” he whispers, a little shocked at the impossibility of it all.

His fairy godfather gives his wand another wave. “There, better,” he says with a smile.

Harry’s cast-offs are gone. In their stead he’s wearing a bespoke suit that fits perfectly. 

* * *

“But remember,” Sirius cautions, “my magic only works until midnight.”

Harry smiles. “I’ll remember, I promise.”

* * *

He doesn’t know what makes him stand out enough for her to pick him, but Princess Hermione makes her way over to him with a confident air about her. “Dance with me,” she commands, and Harry has no choice but to comply.

They dance in silence for the first few minutes, and he twirls her around the way she seems to want to. Finally she laughs and reaches up to touch the tip of his feather. “I like your mask,” she says with a small smile.

“I’m gay,” Harry blurts.

Her face makes interesting expressions. “I said I liked your mask, not that I wanted to— _men_!”

Harry has the grace to blush, cheeks hot with it. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

She sighs. “And here I thought you’d be different. Well, I suppose you are. Why are you here, then, if not for me?”

He spins her, taking that moment to think of an answer. “I don’t know, Your Highness. For the free drinks, maybe,” he settles on, because he honestly has no idea what else to tell her.

“Or is there anyone here that has caught your fancy?” the princess smirks.

“Not here, no, Your Highness,” Harry answers, then wants to facepalm but doesn’t.

“Oh-ho, not _here_ , but perhaps elsewhere? Catch me.” She spins on her own, then falls back into his arms with a grin. He only just manages to not drop her. “You’re really bad at this. Well, I need a break anyway.” She turns and walks off, and it takes Harry a hot second to understand that she’s fully expecting him to follow her.

So demanding.

Are all princesses like this? Jeez.

* * *

“What is your name?”

“I’d rather not say, Your Highness,” Harry hedges.

“Pity.” Princess Hermione sips from her flute of champagne. “And how old are you?”

“I’d rather not say, Your Highness,” Harry repeats.

Her eyes narrow. “Is there anything you are comfortable telling me or is this going to be a one-sided type of deal?”

“Deal?”

“Come now, Mr. Anonymous.”

“Harry,” he sighs.

“A- _ha_. Harry, then. Listen.” She empties her flute then balances it on the balcony railing. “My father cooked up this scheme without my say-so. My mother wants me to marry and I’d really rather not. I, like you, have someone else I’ve set my sights on.” 

She looks down at her glass. 

“Shit, it’s empty.” 

She beckons over one of the servers, then takes two flutes off the tray. She fails to hand over one of them to Harry.

“The ball has just started and there will be three of them. Let’s help each other out. You’re not interested in me, which is perfect, because I’m sure you’re lovely, but you’re not my type.”

“Then why did you come to me in the first place?” Harry asks with raised eyebrows.

“Because you didn’t belong. No, actually, it was because—” A wicked grin lights up her expression and her eyes flicker to the feather once before focusing back on Harry. “Because I can recognise Sirius’ handiwork from _kilometres_ away.”

Harry chokes.

“Ha! I knew it.”

* * *

They return to the dancefloor after that revelation. Princess Hermione burrows closer than Harry is sure is appropriate, and then she closes her eyes, a mischievous smile playing with her lips. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, bewildered.

“What, you think I want to be here? I’m _reading_.”

“Excuse me?”

Her eyes open a fraction. “I have an eidetic memory. Now hush and dance with me.”

* * *

It’s during their second break that Harry dares ask, “What did you mean about Sirius? How do you know him?”

“His family has lived on the island for generations. Sirius is well-known around the island, well-liked.” Her look turns horrified. “Is it him you have your eye on? _Harry_.”

Harry bites his lip. “I only met him this afternoon.”

Princess Hermione giggles, her expression clearing. “Oh, I see. Well, you’ll get over that fast enough, everyone does. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great person, but he’s not exactly known for his stable relationships on the rare occasion he does them.”

“Why isn’t he here?”

She sighs. “It’s not exactly my story to tell, but to summarise... a long time ago, Sirius was… involved with someone they shouldn’t have been with. He hasn’t been welcome in the castle since it came out.” She smiles slightly. “Just don’t worry about it, he’s fine.”

“As long as he doesn’t enter the castle.”

“Essentially,” Princess Hermione says simply.

* * *

“Hermione, darling, don’t you think you’ve spent enough time with this young man?”

Harry’s heart jumps into his throat. That’s _Queen Granger_ who is standing less than a metre away from him. He bows. “Your Majesty,” he stammers.

She looks unimpressed. “And who might you be, boy?”

“I’d rather not say, ma’am.”

“Hmm, and where are you from?”

“England, ma’am.”

“I see. And how old are you?”

Harry winces, glances at Princess Hermione. “Seventeen, ma’am.”

Princess Hermione snorts to herself. “I knew it.”

Queen Granger draws herself up fully, and she’s nearly the same height as Harry. “Well, Hermione, I believe you have other suitors you shouldn’t neglect. The Malfoys—”

It’s Princess Hermione’s turn to look unimpressed. “I’d rather stay with Harry.”

“Darling, we—”

“Mother, _please_.”

* * *

So despite what King and Queen Granger seem to think of Harry, which apparently isn’t much, not that he can blame them, the princess sticks to him like glue all evening. 

And Harry—

Harry doesn’t mind. 

Princess Hermione is fun company. 

She allows her mother to usher other young men in her direction, but she insists Harry stay present for all the introductions. Harry, utterly bewildered at how the evening is going, simply does as told because doing otherwise seems unwise. 

They dance a lot as well.

Princess Hermione mostly closes her eyes and reads from whatever books she has memorised. He knows they dance together too intimately, but she, like Sirius, is easy to get along with. At some point during the night he starts to forget that they haven’t been friends for years. When he asks her to read to him, she gives him a mischievous smile and starts whispering the words into his ear as they slowly spin around the room, her voice soft and clear.

She also thinks she’s funny.

She’s reading him Cinderella.

* * *

“So who do you have your eye on, if not for someone here?” Harry asks cheekily during their third break. He leans over the balcony, ignores all the staring that’s going on from downstairs.

Princess Hermione’s conveniently too busy inhaling her champagne to answer.

Then he gets a good look at the clock, and sees it’s almost midnight.

“Shit, I have to—I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“Midnight?”

“Yes.”

“Right, I always forget he’s Dark,” Princess Hermione murmurs. Louder, she adds, “Will you be here next week? Please tell me you’ll come, I don’t know what I would do if you wouldn’t. It’s… dreadfully stuffy here.”

“I noticed,” Harry says, voice dry. “I’ll have to think about it.”

* * *

The nice ride Sirius mentioned is a carriage created out of a squash because they couldn’t find pumpkins, though he didn’t bother with mice and instead borrowed the horses from a stable in town. There were only two left, but Harry doesn’t care, as long as it gets him back at The Burrow in time. He’s a little sad Sirius doesn’t greet him when he exits the castle grounds, but he doesn’t know why he expected that in the first place.

Halfway on the way back to town, the spell dissipates and Harry falls into a pile of mashed squash, brilliant. The horses neigh in protest as their fancy saddles turn back into regular ones, and Harry sighs. 

Ron may have taught him how to ride a horse, but it’s late at night, Harry is tired, he doubts he’ll be able to keep from getting into an accident without the stable-boy there to guide him. Instead, he takes both of the reins and walks the rest of the way. It’s a nice night out so it’s not even a chore.

* * *

Sirius is waiting for him inside The Burrow, sitting at the bar with his wand sticking out of his pocket, an excited smile plastered on his face. “And?” he asks enthusiastically, standing up and setting his pint of something down on the bar. “How was it?”

“The castle was...” Harry begins, but he ends up looking up at the sky. “It was beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Was it magical?” Sirius smirks.

“It was,” he sighs happily and he opens his eyes, not realising he’d closed them as he tried to remember Hogwarts. He had seen it in photographs before and sometimes films had replicas, but never in his seventeen years of life had he thought he’d ever get to see it from up close, nevermind that it’d be this magnificent in real life.

“Did you dance with anyone? Come sit.” Sirius herds him back to the bar and sits back down on one of the stools, patting the one next to his. “Well, did you?”

“I danced with—” Harry looks around the bar area, sees three people at a table further along and lowers his voice, “—the princess.” 

Sirius makes a drawn out _oh_ -sound. “The _princess,_ huh?” He smiles. “She’s a good girl. You didn’t try anything untoward, did you?”

“Oh, god, no,” Harry immediately says. “No, she was great.” He plucks at his clothes. “I miss the suit,” he says, managing to sound mournful enough that it gives Sirius a laugh. “I really do, don’t laugh.”

“I’m a Dark wizard, sorry.”

Harry blinks. “A Dark wizard?”

“Yes, my magic only works from noon until midnight. Light magic only works from midnight until noon.” He shrugs. “My family has always been Dark.”

A thought occurred to Harry. “How come you get to tell me this?” He smiles. “Are you secretly a murderer? Should I worry?”

There’s a strange light in Sirius’ eyes. “You’ll know when you leave. You have three weeks left, right?”

“Yes, but…” He groans. “I don’t want to leave, I love it here.”

Sirius laughs but it sounds odd. “You’ll be fine.”

* * *

They drink until three, which is when Ron stumbles through the hotel lobby looking exhausted, and then they move to a booth. Harry is still too hyped up to go back to his hotel room. They’re both approaching drunk, Harry closer to it than Sirius. 

Ron sprawls out next to Harry. “My feet hurt so much,” he moans. “At least they let us shower at Hogwarts before we left. God, there were so _many_ of them, too, it was just this never-ending stream of suffering.”

Sirius snorts. “You volunteered.”

“Yeah, that’s what makes it even worse,” Ron exclaims, “no pay! Where’ve you been anyway? We were expecting all sorts of shenanigans, but nothing happened.” He grimaces.

“I had other things to do.”

“Did you find a stray again?” Ron asks rather knowingly.

Sirius gives the boy a disarming smile. “Maybe I did.”

Ron glances at Harry, stretches and crosses his arms behind his head for a moment before putting his hands on the back of his head. “I like this one, so can you not?”

“Can he not _what?_ ” Harry asks, annoyed that they’re excluding him.

“Just something to do with the island, it’s—”

“I told him.” Sirius looks guilty.

Ron makes a disgusted noise. “Of course you did.”

“I won’t tell, I promise,” Harry says with conviction. “I _love_ magic.”

Both islanders wince.

* * *

The grey Henley shirt Sirius wears is going to kill Harry sometime tonight.

Sirius casually mirrors Ron’s position, biceps bulging with the action, the fabric pulled tight over a sculpted chest and Harry’s mouth promptly turns itself into a desert.

Harry stares and wonders what it’d be like to curl up in the space between his body and the wall, to run his hands down those pecs, to bury his hands in that dark wavy hair, to kiss the lips that are parted in a grin.

Then he catches himself and he busies himself with his drink, his entire face hot with it. 

A horrible part of him wonders if his attraction is the only reason he’s hanging out with the man, but he squashes that thought fast. He likes Sirius for other reasons, the man’s funny and tall and smart and really fucking _fit_ —

Ron coughs into his elbow.

Harry hates himself a little at that moment.


	2. 2.

The week between the first and the second ball, Sirius shows him around the island, showing him little treasures that the tourists don’t get to see. They stick to Hogsmeade Village and the fields around it, but there’s plenty to find, like an abandoned farm the youth uses to party every weekend and the old broomstick factory site that has a history of its own but that Sirius is hesitant to talk about. He has yet to show Harry where he lives, however.

They mostly get around on horses provided by Ron, though on one memorable occasion they take his motorbike, a shiny cruiser. It’s a lot heavier than Harry expects and he almost drops it the one time Sirius asks him to hold it, fiddling with his jacket.

“Do you want to try?” Sirius asks.

It’s past eleven at night and Sirius just dropped him off in front of The Burrow after a long day spent riding around the island, though they didn’t visit Diagon Road. The motorbike rumbles loudly in the empty alley, the entrance to The Burrow.

Sirius wiggles backwards and pats the space in front of him. “C’mon,” he encourages, “it’ll be fine.”

“It’ll be fine,” Harry echoes flatly.

“Yes, I promise,” Sirius grins.

Harry climbs in front of the man and experiences instant regret when Sirius’ arms come around his waist and he’s pulled flush against a strong chest. Sirius is saying something, but Harry’s too busy getting distracted by the proximity, and how hot his face is and the frantic beating of his heart.

“What?” he manages.

Sirius chuckles, and Harry can feel the reverb of it against his back. 

This was a bad idea.

“Come now, darling, pay attention,” Sirius whispers in Harry’s ear.

Yeah, that’s not helping matters. At all. A shiver runs down Harry’s spine and his knees feel weak, and at the same time he feels shame that his attraction is so obvious that Sirius has picked up on it and is making fun of it. Harry should be angry about that, but instead he leans further into the embrace because he doesn’t think Sirius will mind and he wants to make the most of this opportunity. 

“I’m paying attention,” he says. 

“Okay, alright,” Sirius replies.

Before long they’re riding back and forth on the main street of Hogsmeade Village, since there’s nobody there anyway, but the motorbike is _loud_ , and then a window opens halfway along the cobblestone street. “For fuck’s sake, Black, people are trying to sleep!” someone yells angrily.

Sirius rolls his eyes and directs them to just underneath the window, and then he makes sure to create some extra noise, hands covering Harry’s as he accelerates in place. “I see beauty sleep has yet to work out for you,” he says calmly when he’s satisfied.

“Goddamnit, Sirius,” the person hanging out of the window growls.

Sirius raises his eyebrows in challenge but then he squeezes Harry’s thigh. “That’s Percy, he’s one of the Weasley brothers,” he explains. “He’s a pain.” 

He does not remove his hand. If anything, his hand relaxes in place and his thumb plays with the inseam of Harry’s jeans. It’s lucky the jeans are far too large for him and he can barely feel it, but _still_. 

Harry was right; this was a _bad_ idea.

“Good _night_ , Black,” Percy says and he slams the window closed so hard the glass rattles.

“Hey,” Sirius says softly and he puts his free hand on Harry’s waist.

Harry turns around slightly to face him. “Hey,” he answers.

“You wanna keep going or do you want to go back to the hotel?” Sirius asks. He smiles, white teeth and pink tongue visible where he bits on the tip of his tongue. 

Harry tries not to look at Sirius’ mouth, focuses instead on his grey eyes. He’d love to stick around and ride around on the motorbike some more, but, “We should probably go to bed,” he says with a mournful sigh.

Sirius groans, leans his face on Harry’s shoulder. “I hate how responsible you are. Alright, fine. Go ride us back to The Burrow, then, on your own.”

“On my own?” Harry squeaks.

“Yes, on your own. You’ve done fine so far.” His hand finally leaves Harry’s thigh with a final squeeze and then the man has both arms around Harry’s waist once more, one large hand splayed out on his stomach. It’s a lot more intimate now that Harry’s half turned and sitting face to face with him. 

“Yeah, okay,” Harry mumbles.

He gets them to The Burrow safely, though he doesn’t know how he managed that. It’s dark in the narrow alley where the entrance is, not a single street lantern outside. Sirius is only just able to turn his bike around, though it’s a tight fit.

They sit in silence in front of the entrance. Harry doesn’t want the night to end, but it’s almost two already. Truth be told, he’s starting to get really tired and he would really appreciate a wank right now because Sirius—

Sirius is tapping Harry’s stomach with his fingertips to a rhythm only he knows.

He has kept Harry in a state of constant arousal the entire night, and he _knows_ it. Knows full well that Harry spent the past few hours sporting a semi. First when he was pressed up against Sirius’ back when they were riding around the countryside, and then when their roles were reversed, no space between them as he shamelessly leaned back against Sirius’ front.

At least Sirius has been kind enough to not mention it.

If anything, it seems to amuse him, and he freely indulges Harry for a reason Harry has yet to figure out. Is it an ego-boost? Surely a man like that doesn’t need one, he _knows_ he’s handsome, he knows when he’s being admired. Perhaps he just likes messing around.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Sirius’ tapping becomes more firm. “Hey,” he says again.

“Hey,” Harry repeats with a smile.

“Where’d you go?”

“Just thinking,” Harry replies. “Okay, I really have to go.” With a groan, he pulls himself together and dismounts the bike. He can’t stop a soft gasp from escaping when Sirius’ fingertips brush over his crotch on his way off, cock twitching.

There is no way Sirius did _not_ feel the hard-on that was definitely no longer a semi.

When Harry looks up, he spots Sirius fighting a losing battle with a smirk. Harry’s cheeks heat with embarrassment, and he’s incredibly happy for his baggy clothes for once; there’s no sign of his erection if he hunches slightly, which will help with his walk through the lobby.

Sirius slides forward in his seat once more, balancing on one foot. “C’mere.”

Against his better judgement, Harry steps forward, and is promptly pulled into a hug. 

“Listen,” Sirius says quietly, barely audible, and he sounds serious for once, “I don’t always know when I’m too much, so you need to tell me when I am, alright?” He traces Harry’s jawline. “I enjoy this a lot, but if it becomes too much for you, then you need to tell me.”

“Alright.” Harry’s voice is shaky.

“I’m serious, consider it a rule when you’re with me. Am I being too much?”

Harry's rational brain yearns to say _yes_ , because if he’s honest with himself, Sirius _is_ overwhelming sometimes, but his traitorous crushy, _smitten_ , brain is eager for more, and so what happens is a vehement, “No, you’re fine.”

“Okay, good. Now let’s never mention this again.”

“Except when you’re being too much.”

“Yeah, except then.”

They share a smile.

* * *

They meet up in the evening again, and once more the streets are deserted, just like with the first ball. There’s a pub still open, with maybe three patrons in it, but other than that the entire village has closed shop.

Sirius spends five minutes lamenting Harry’s lack of proper clothes, and he gets angry when Harry finally explains that new clothes would make his relatives suspicious, and he can’t leave them yet, he’s _seventeen_.

“I forget sometimes how it works off the island,” Sirius says.

Harry shrugs, not sure what else there is to say about that. “I appreciate your magic, though,” he makes sure to add.

Sirius, however, is still stuck on the clothes. “We’ll stop by my place on the way back and you can borrow some of mine. No, it’s no problem, I have too many clothes, I won’t miss them.” He pauses. “Though you can always just return them at the end of your stay.”

The fact that there’s an end coming in just a week is saddening, and Harry doesn’t want to think about it. He hopes he can spend it with the people he’s befriended so far, and he also hopes he won’t run into the Dursleys. So far, because he spent most of his time with Sirius and Ron outside of the village, he hasn’t yet, but that can still change.

Maybe different clothes won’t be so bad, if it’s just for a week.

“Fine,” he agrees, wondering what on earth he just signed up for. At least he has the rest of the evening to contemplate, and he’s excited to see Princess Hermione again, provided, of course, that she remembers their _deal_. 

Sirius has a different mask for him this time, black and gold, slightly larger than the previous one but just as comfortable. “There, now you’re a proper islander,” he says after he conjures a beautiful black cloak with a large hood. “I’d give you robes but I don’t think you’ll be very comfortable in those.”

“I saw people wear them, but didn’t realise that was an islander thing.”

“It’s traditional, but the balls don’t have a specific dress-code when it comes to formal clothing, so a simple suit is fine.”

_The joys of magic_ , Harry thinks as he glances down at himself. Sirius gave him a dark green silk shirt and green socks, the latter detail Harry finds hilarious for some reason.

“A birdie told me your little princess will be wearing green tonight,” Sirius says with a wink. 

He waves his wand, and from another squash comes a carriage, though different from last time he frowns in concentration as he changes four mice into horses. Another wave and Harry’s hair is somewhat tamed, which feels a little strange.

“There, now you’re a proper Cinderella.” Sirius gives him a once-over, mouth covered by a hand, and Harry doesn’t think he’s meant to see the sad slant of his lips. “Damn, I wasn’t expecting—yeah, alright, you look great,” he finally says.

* * *

It isn’t just Sirius’ reaction that’s odd. It’s the entire goddamn ball.

When he enters, a hush falls over the room. 

Harry swallows around the nervous lump in his throat, wills himself to keep walking and not let the numerous eyes on him get to him. Whatever spell they were under breaks when Princess Hermione comes to meet him halfway, her hand shaking when she grabs his, which they both ignore.

“What’s wrong?” Harry hisses when they’re somewhat private.

Princess Hermione shakes her head, eyes on something behind Harry. 

King Granger looks pale when he joins them. “Sirius really outdid himself this time, didn’t he,” he says, his deep voice sounding bitter.

“I’m so confused,” Harry mutters to himself.

“You are the boy from last week, no?” King Granger asks, eyes travelling from Harry’s toes to the top of his head. “You’re Sirius’ new project.” He hums thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see why he would pick you. How long ago was it?”

“Fifteen years,” Princess Hermione says quietly.

“Too old to be You-Know-Who’s offspring,” King Granger says. “A coincidence, then. Better be careful, son. Sirius is a good man, but sometimes…” He trails off, shaking his head at whatever goes through his head. “Very well then, carry on. Don’t hog the young man, Hermione, let some of the other ladies have a go.” 

“ _Have a go_ ,” Princess Hermione mouths to herself, looking incredulous.

* * *

Princess Hermione takes mercy during their first dance together. “You look like a younger version of our old court magician. I don’t remember him and I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen photos. Sirius must’ve—he must have anticipated the reaction people would have to you wearing _that_. I bet he’s laughing his arse off thinking about it.”

“Wearing what, Your Highness? The suit?”

“Please, just Hermione,” she says. “I told you this last week.”

“Sorry, _Hermione_. So what, is it the suit?” 

She slaps his shoulder lightly. “No, I think it's a combination of colours. That and the mask itself, I suppose. My parents liked masquerades a lot, so there used to be many of those when they were younger. Now they don’t really care anymore.”

“Where’s he now?” Harry asks curiously. Clearly this man meant something to a lot of people, if their reaction, including Sirius’, was anything to go by.

“Exiled,” Hermione says shortly.

“What did he do that he was _exiled_ of all things?”

Hermione’s expression shutters. “Don’t worry about it,” she says.

* * *

Despite King Granger’s words, they spend all evening dancing together. Like Sirius said, they match, wearing the same shade of green. They make quite the sight, if Harry says so himself. He’s sure he spots Ron watching them, but that can’t be right, he should be at the stables.

At around ten, Hermione gets sick of dancing and she pulls him with her up the grand staircase, mindless of who is watching them, and they disappear behind the curtains, through a handful of hallways and into a room with a lot of armchairs, almost like a lobby. She slumps down in one of them, gestures Harry closer, so he sits in the one across from her.

“My feet hurt,” Hermione complains, putting her feet on the low table between them.

“Take your shoes off?”

“God, no, that’ll just make it worse.”

“Where are we exactly?”

“The staff room. I used to come here a lot to hide from my parents.” She digs her fingers into the armrest. “So, _Sirius_ , huh?” She’s grinning widely. “How bad?”

Harry bites his lip. “Bad,” he sighs, and he sprawls out with a groan. “He’s so—ugh, _kill_ me.”

“Does he know?”

Harry snorts. “Of course he does. I’ve not been subtle and we’ve spent most of the week together.”

“Mhmm.” Hermione gets up again and walks over to the kitchenette at the other end of the room, looking through the fridge there. She comes back with a bottle of red wine and two mugs, not even bothering with glasses. She hands him one, then throws a straw in her mug. “I had my teeth done today, I’m not supposed to drink yet if I want to avoid stains.”

It’s odd to realise that even royals needed dentistry, it seems almost too normal for them.

“What’s it like being a princess?” Harry asks before he can think better of it.

Hermione raises an eyebrow. “What’s it like being a commoner?” she asks before taking a long sip from her drink through the straw.

“Point,” he mutters.

* * *

Of course he forgets once more that Sirius’ magic only works until midnight, though he has more time now compared to last time, rushing to the stables and hurrying outside. He narrowly makes it past the Hogwarts grounds, where Sirius is waiting seated against a large tree, before the spells give way. Harry curses as he falls to the ground, narrowly missing squishing one of the mice.

Sirius laughs loudly as he gets up.

“I really don’t feel like walking,” Harry says. He grabs Sirius’ hand, who pulls him upright.

“You can go back and get two horses,” Sirius suggests, “I’m sure Ron will let you.”

And so Harry trudges back to the castle, making a beeline for the stables, where Ron is sitting on a bucket messing around on his phone. 

“Oh, hey,” he says when he notices Harry. “Had fun?”

“Yeah.”

Ron looks at the clock then chuckles. “Oh, right. You need a ride home? I think I’ve got one free horse tonight, let me check the roster.” He slaps his knees then gets up. “I’ll be right back.” He does, is back within two minutes or so. “I’ve got one, her name’s Betty. She’s one of the older ones, so she’s a little slow but you’ll like her. Hmm, she’s got some back problems too now that I think about it, so let me grab one of the special saddles for you.”

“Special saddle?” Harry asks, following Ron to a storage room. There’s a shelving unit taking up the entire right side of the room, with different saddles in it, but there’s also different riding helmets and even some boots on a different shelf.

“Yeah, they’re enchanted to absorb your weight so the horse doesn’t feel it. Means that even the larger tourists can get around on horseback if there’s no carriage available. They used to complain about it being unfair, yada yada. Took us a while to figure out how to create the saddles but they’re a godsend.”

Not long later, Betty is ready to go. She’s a dark brown mare with white socks, and she’s a sweetheart according to Ron. 

“Just bring her back to The Burrow, I’ll bring her back in the afternoon, it’ll be fine.”

Harry nods, then exits the stable on his temporary horse. Ron’s _slow_ is Harry’s perfect pace, honestly, and Betty’s doing great. He manages to get her into a trot, and soon he’s approaching the tree Sirius is standing under.

“There was just one,” Harry says.

Sirius looks a little unhappy about that. “Okay, well, remember our rule.”

Harry frowns, sitting back in the saddle so Sirius can sit in front. He knows exactly what rule Sirius is talking about, and while at first he doesn’t understand, he learns fast what Sirius means.

“Everything alright, Harry?” Sirius asks.

“Yeah, fine,” Harry grunts.

But Sirius’ cologne is in Harry’s nose, his abs are under Harry’s hands, and Harry tries not to lean into the touch but it’s difficult. His cock is so hard, there’s no way Sirius doesn’t feel it with the way they’re pressed together, grinding into his arse with every step the horse takes.

Harry squeezes Sirius’ waist with a loud gasp when Betty takes a sudden sidestep and jostles him in a way he hadn’t anticipated, isn’t prepared for. He’s—he’s going too— 

“Stop, stop, _stop_!” Harry calls out, squeezing his eyes shut.

Sirius instantly halts Betty. “Breathe, Harry,” he says, turning around as much as he can. “Just relax, you’re fine.”

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” Harry says, breathing hard despite what Sirius is telling him, and he hides his face in his trembling hands, eyes and nose burning. “Shit, _fuck_. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Sirius repeats, “I promise. How about we switch, hmm?” He dismounts, and Harry scoots forward, staring at the ground. Within seconds, Sirius is sitting behind him, but he leaves some space between them. “Harry,” he says, but he trails off. “Remember our rule, okay?”

“When you’re too much?” Harry asks bitterly.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, that was—” He cuts himself off with a gasp when Sirius pulls him close abruptly. 

_Oh._

Harry doesn’t say anything after that.

They ride at a slow pace for a while, enjoying the quiet that is the middle of the night as much as they can in their current predicament. 

“Can’t you just… disappear and go wherever? Magic and all that? Or does that no longer work after midnight either?” Harry asks him. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, I’d understand.” He wouldn’t be _happy_ about it, but he’d get it.

Sirius tightens his arms around Harry’s waist momentarily. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

Harry swallows thickly, feels the erection unceremoniously pressing against his arse that they’re studiously ignoring. Unlike when it was Harry in that position, this is just the friction and the motions, he knows that, and so he suffers through it as much as one does when Sirius is a hard presence against your back.

There’s a traitorous voice that tells him Sirius has been hard since _before_ they switched places, but Harry does his best to ignore that, for his own sanity.

Sirius groans suddenly and rests his forehead on Harry’s shoulder. He chuckles darkly. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he laughs breathlessly. “Harry.” His hands drop from Harry’s waist to his hips, pulling his shirt taut across his stomach. He squeezes tightly. “I’m—I’ll walk,” he says. He kisses Harry on the cheek, lightning fast, and then he’s standing next to Betty. 

Poor Betty.

* * *

They bring Betty to The Burrow, both cooled down from whatever the hell _that_ was. 

“You promised me clothes,” Harry reminds him.

Sirius smiles. “I did, didn’t I?”

* * *

The manor Sirius takes him to is closer to Diagon Road than it is to Hogsmeade Village. When Harry climbs on the motorbike behind Sirius, he can breathe a little easier knowing there won’t be as much jostling around as there is on a goddamn horse. 

Never again. That had been the most humiliating experience of Harry’s _life_.

The ride isn’t long at all, because at the end of the day, the island is very small, with the two settlements separated by a forest. 

There’s a long driveway in front of the manor, closed off by iron wrought gates left ajar. Sirius parks his motorbike near the steps in the front. “Home sweet home.” His smile is off, and when they enter the manor, Harry understands why.

Harry feels his breathing catch in his throat. He releases it slowly, unsure of what he’s looking at.

It’s like he stepped into a time capsule. 

It looks lived in, but that’s not the problem.

Coats still hang on the rack, keys still sit on a shelf near the door, mail still lays on the floor, but it all comes with a thick layer of dust on it. There’s a thin clean path that leads further into the manor and one that leads up the grand staircase, but Harry’s heart is gripped with sudden inexplicable sadness. 

Something isn’t right here, and he doesn’t know what, but it hurts seeing it.

“C’mon,” Sirius says, as if nothing is wrong.

Harry makes sure to only step on the clean path, doesn’t wish to disturb whatever is going on here. “You live here?”

“Mhmm.”

“Alone?”

“Yep,” Sirius says brightly.

Harry follows him through a door and then a broad hallway that leads into a sitting room of sorts. Here, too, is a lot of dust, mostly gathered on the shelves and the corners of the rooms, but there’s a few surprising spots. There’s a very old TV on a stand that doesn’t look like it’s been touched in years, and there’s an open magazine on the coffee table that has yellowed with age. An empty teacup sits on the armrest of a chair. 

“Sirius,” Harry begins.

“I don’t usually have guests,” Sirius says brusquely. “My cousins drop by sometimes.” He opens a small cabinet and takes a set of keys from it. “Let’s get you some clothes. I don’t know if they fit you or not, he’s taller, but it shouldn’t be as bad as your current attire or if you were to wear mine.”

They go back to the entrance hall and go up the staircase, and Harry once more makes sure to stay on the path. He doesn’t want to leave his footprints in this timeless place.

“I’ll show you around first,” Sirius says. He looks uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Harry tells him quietly. “It’s fine.”

“I’m aware. Sure, actually, let’s get you your clothes first. They’re probably not entirely your style, but we’ll see.”

“I don’t _have_ a style, in case you haven’t noticed,” Harry says wryly. He wants to tell Sirius about the Dursleys, that they claim the money from his part-time job as his portion of the rent and utility bills, that he would have tried to figure out what style he prefers or discover what looks good on him if he had the chance. 

But then he looks around him and doesn’t want to add to whatever _this_ is.

Sirius laughs. “True enough. Well, we have a week to find out, don’t we?”

He opens the door to what looks like a bedroom, but the clean path doesn’t go further than the door. The double bed looks slept in, still unmade, the problem being that it looks like it happened a long time ago. Harry guesses that the matte glass-like panel on the wardrobe is supposed to be a mirror.

Harry sneezes. 

“Right,” Sirius mumbles. He takes a deep breath and sets a foot inside and walks over to the wardrobe. “Just, don’t touch anything, alright?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry says, and he means it, careful to stay in Sirius’ larger footprints.

The clothes Sirius shows him are remarkably intact for a room that looks like nobody has seen the inside of it in several years. He comes back with a handful of T-shirts, two shirts and three pairs of trousers.

“We’ll get you some shoes another time, something better than those trainers.”

* * *

It turns out that Sirius lives on the second floor, occupying two rooms total; a sitting room with a kitchenette near the door and a bed on the far end, and a bathroom. “Years and years ago, back when the family still lived here, these were staff rooms,” Sirius explains.

The rooms are impeccably clean, more so than Harry was expecting, the complete opposite of the rest of the manor. Sirius grabs a beer for himself and a soda for Harry after learning he’s not a fan of beer, and then they sit down on a navy two-seat sofa.

“Go on, try them, see if they fit.”

Harry tries on a T-shirt first, because if one fits, then they’ll all fit. He’s all too aware of Sirius’ dark gaze as he strips, the twist of approval on his lips that he’s trying to hide behind his bottle. As expected, the T-shirt is slightly too big for him but not enough that it’s noticeable. According to Sirius, the T-shirts sat a lot tighter on the person who used to own them, and Harry imagines it was probably much like the way Sirius is stretching out his own.

The trousers are incredibly comfortable, made of soft wool. They’re a little loose and little too long, but not long enough that he’ll stumble over them like he does with his own jeans. He decides to keep those on along with the silk shirt Sirius picked out.

“Turn,” Sirius grunts when Harry’s fully dressed in a ghost’s clothing.

Harry does, can feel every second of Sirius’ assessing gaze, his eyes lingering. “Well?” he asks when the silence gets to him, “how do I look?”

Sirius stays silent for a beat longer, rubbing his lower lip with the second knuckle of his pointy finger. “You look good,” he says roughly.

Harry ducks his head.


	3. 3.

Ron meets him at the restaurant the next morning. Harry greets him and sits down next to him at a table in the back, where Ron is already hunched over a plate of eggs and toast. Harry’s staying at the hotel on a breakfast-only type of deal, but Ron pushes a second plate across the table anyway.

“My parents own the place, they’ll be fine,” Ron says with a shrug.

“Cheers, mate,” Harry says, still tired.

“Got plans today?”

Harry shakes his head, mouth full of toast.

“Feel like joining me at the stables today?”

He shrugs. May as well.

* * *

There’s a commotion when they reach the stables on the grounds of Hogwarts, courtesy of a royal, they learn. Ron instantly looks to be in his element, flitting from stable to stable and whispering to the horses and laughing and stroking their manes. 

Harry stands awkwardly to the side. 

“Are you new?” a feminine voice asks. 

When Harry turns slightly, he sees she’s blonde, with the same silver eyes Sirius sports. She’s dressed impeccably, her hair in some fancy up-do that she couldn’t possibly have done herself. The leather parts of her blue riding boots shine as if they’re brand new. Her face is kind, unlike the face of the other woman standing next to her.

“Oh, no, I’m just helping Ron,” he says quietly.

“Ron?” the second woman asks.

“The youngest Weasley boy,” the first woman says softly. “And who might you be?”

“Harry Potter, ma’am,” Harry answers uneasily, feeling very much like an unpleasant insect under a microscope.

“Lottery,” the second woman concludes, and promptly loses interest, inspecting her nails instead. “Narcissa, let’s go,” she prompts.

“In a moment, Bella, you go on ahead,” the first woman says.

Harry eyes the second woman warily, but she grins at him and then she’s gone.

“You were the boy Hermione spent her evening with. Sirius’ newest pet project.” Narcissa circles him once. “One would almost wonder what makes you so special,” she says, her voice a lot softer than her eyes.

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”

“You look a lot like him, but your eyes… they’re different. They’re so… _green_ ,” the woman continues. “I can see the resemblance, no wonder my poor cousin was instantly drawn to you. And what will you do once you have him?”

Harry swallows. “I don’t know, ma’am,” seems the safest answer to that.

“You don’t _know_ ,” she repeats, a hint of mockery in her voice. “Well, that won’t do.” Her lips curl up into a shadow of a smile. “Would you like to join us today?”

“Oh, no, I would—” He cuts himself off, realises that it isn’t a question. “I mean, I couldn’t possibly—I shouldn’t—” 

“Speak clearly, boy,” Narcissa says.

“That would be splendid,” Harry says quietly.

* * *

‘Us’ turns out to be the three Black sisters, the princess, Sirius and one of the king’s advisors, a man named Remus. Harry goes in search of Ron, wondering what sort of fresh hell he was bullied into, hopeful that Ron will have a solution.

He finds Ron with one of the Black sisters. Just then, Princess Hermione walks in, dressed in her riding clothes, with a beautiful red cloak on top of it.

“Hi,” Princess Hermione says breathlessly.

Ron goes scarlet. “Your Majesty,” he grunts, busying himself with adjusting the stirrups.

Harry’s eyebrows rise and he looks from one to the other. _Oh_.

* * *

“Blimey, mate, you can’t get out of that one,” Ron says, which isn’t helpful at all.

* * *

It’s not so bad. Harry isn’t good at riding horseback yet, so while the ladies go on ahead at a speed that makes Harry fear for their lives, Sirius and Remus stay behind with him, riding at a more respectable speed. They keep Harry in the middle.

“So, Harry, how long will you be staying?” Remus asks. So far he’s been kind, a lot kinder than the sisters at any rate.

“I’ll probably go home directly after the third ball.”

“Directly?” Remus hums. “I suppose that would be best.”

“Remus,” Sirius says, not quite a snap.

“All I’m saying is that most people will be staying a little longer, so the ferry won’t be very crowded yet. That’ll come in the week after, when everyone’s going to go home.”

“They’re running all over the place, but it’s a great economic boost,” Sirius admits.

“I’m just glad they don’t get to bring their vehicles on the island proper.”

“Very true,” Sirius agrees.

“Do you drive?” Remus asks next.

Harry feels his cheeks burn. “No, sir,” he says.

“So polite,” Remus remarks to Sirius. “When did you meet?”

He hasn’t felt this embarrassed in ages, not even last night when he nearly stumbled while everyone was watching him and Princess Hermione dance. “Right before the first ball.”

Remus whistles. “Sirius, you dog.”

“Shut _up_ , Remus.”

Harry wants to hide.

* * *

When the sisters learn Harry knows about magic, they collectively defrost into something that almost resembles nice. Harry won’t forget his first impression of them, however, won’t forget their obvious sense of superiority, the entitlement. Now they regard him with pity, which isn’t something Harry likes either.

Harry wonders if they finally realised that while he is starting to develop a complex when it comes to Sirius, the man shows barely a single sign of being affected similarly. If anything, he seems annoyed when assumptions are being made about them hanging out.

He doesn’t get it. After all, nobody thinks Ron and he are fucking, yet they’ve hung out plenty too. Is that because everyone is aware of whatever feelings the stable-boy harbours for the princess?

To be fair, there is some truth to it, anyway, whatever it is between Sirius and Harry. There’s something there, he’s willing to believe that now, but he doesn’t know what exactly that is.

Surely Sirius doesn’t show his manor to just about anyone who comes to the island? It seems like such a private thing, and Harry doesn’t think Sirius was lying when he said he doesn’t get a lot of guests.

The house might not be haunted, but there is no doubt that Sirius is living with a ghost.

* * *

Just like the previous week, Harry spends his daytime with Ron and then in the evening wanders the island with Sirius one way or another. Sirius is on a mission to make sure Harry knows how to properly ride his motorbike at the end of his trip. While Harry loves the speed when he’s leaning against Sirius’ back and Sirius isn’t that bad of an instructor, well, he loves being alive, too.

The day after being accosted by the Black sisters, Sirius takes him back to the manor again, this time in broad daylight. The surrounding gardens are well taken care of, so there’s that at least, but some of the windows on the first floor are boarded shut. There are the remains of a shed on the grounds as well.

With the sunlight shining through the windows, the dust becomes more prominent, much easier to spot. Harry doesn’t say anything about it, however, just follows him up the stairs and to his living quarters, dressed in the clothes Sirius picked out for him the other day.

Feeling emboldened by their interactions of the last few days, Harry casually throws his legs over the armrest of the sofa, his head in Sirius’ lap. His heart is beating in his throat, and when Sirius gives him a long look, he’s suddenly terrified that he’s overstepped. 

But then Sirius smiles brightly and his hand drops down to play with Harry’s hair. He has a TV here, which is turned on, the sound muted. The only sound in the room is the rustle of their clothes when they shift, though Harry barely does.

“Hey,” Sirius says, poking him in the side.

Harry turns and looks up at him. “Hey.”

“Just seeing if you were still here.”

Harry chuckles. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Is that so?” Sirius asks with a cocked eyebrow.

“Mhmm. I could stay like this for a long time.”

“Feel free to continue using me as your pillow.” Sirius leans over Harry to put his empty bottle on the low table.

“Really?”

“What?”

“I’ve seen this movie before,” Harry says to the ceiling.

“Really? How does the movie end?”

Harry’s brain experiences an unfortunate short-circuit. “With your cock in my mouth.”

“Oh, fuck,” Sirius wheezes. He laughs breathlessly. “Okay, alright. God, I need another drink. Give me a second, darling.”

Harry obediently sits up, heart beating so fast he’s afraid it’s going to beat itself out of his chest. _What am I doing_ , he thinks wildly to himself. 

Sirius returns fast, with two bottles this time and he sets them on the low table. As they settle back in their initial positions, he curses, and once more grabs the bottles to put them on the side table instead. Leaning back, he lays his hand on Harry’s stomach as if for balance, except he also pushes his fingertips under Harry’s shirt.

Harry’s definitely seen this movie before, and he _wants_.

He sits up, Sirius’ hand falling to his lap with the movement. He turns in Sirius’ lap and straddles his thighs. “Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” Sirius whispers back, fingers coming up to trace Harry’s jawline and his cheek, fingertips pressing against his lips, staring as if mesmerised.

“Are we still playing?”

“I don’t know, _are_ we?” 

“Okay, _now_ you’re being too much,” Harry says firmly.

Sirius tilts his head, expression telling Harry that he’s thinking about something, and Harry’s dizzy with anticipation, a lump in his throat. But then Sirius leans forward and captures Harry’s lips with his own, and Harry can’t _not_ gasp at the sudden contact. There’s a large hand in his hair, cradling his head, and another on his hip, and there’s a cock pressed against his own that previously, according to the rules of whatever game they were playing, he had to ignore. 

But now he can break the kiss with a moan, closing his eyes when Sirius moves to kiss his neck, and he can move freely, grinding himself up against Sirius.

“Fuck, you’re loud,” Sirius whispers.

Harry stills. “I—sorry,” he replies, because he hadn’t known he would be loud, but he’s not about to tell the man that.

Sirius gives him a blinding smile. “No, it’s—” He bites his lip, and that shouldn’t be as much of a good look on him as it is. “You’re so responsive, love, it’s hot.” He leans in, but does nothing more than peck Harry’s lips. 

Harry focuses on the thin ring of silver around the large pupils.

Sirius’ eyes crinkle at the corner with mischief before he widens them. “So when’s this movie starting?” he murmurs against Harry’s lips.

Harry laughs.

* * *

Sirius comes to pick him up in the afternoon the next day, and to Harry’s surprise, he kisses him where everyone can see. Some of the islanders are tutting at them with disapproval but Harry doesn’t think that’s because they’re two guys, there’s something more behind it.

It seems everyone here knows what happened except him.

* * *

It’s on the day of the third ball, two days before Harry has to leave again, that he learns what the deal with Sirius is. Surprisingly, it’s the man himself who tells him, though he didn’t set out to do so. They’re in Harry’s hotel room, one he hasn’t seen the past few days, staying over at the manor with Sirius.

Things escalated fast, but Harry doesn’t mind. He’s never been happier.

Except.

“Come with me to the ball,” Harry asks from where he’s laying on the bed. Sirius is going to drop him off on the motorbike, so they have more time before the third and final ball begins.

“I can’t be in Hogwarts,” Sirius says after a beat.

“What, why not?”

Sirius sighs, sits down on the bed next to Harry with his drink still in hand. “Because I’m cursed, love.”

Harry sits up. “Cursed?”

“Yeah…” Sirius takes a long sip of his drink. “Long ago, there was a man, his name was—” Sirius looks into the distance, eyes glazed over, lost in memory. “Well, it doesn’t matter what his name was. I was young, he was there. People weren’t amused.”

Harry arches an eyebrow. “Surely that’s not all to it.” He thinks of the time capsule Sirius lives in and doesn’t believe a second of the flippant attitude.

“I thought I was in love.” There’s a dark twist to his lips. “And I was,” he confesses, “I loved him.”

Harry thinks he still does, but he doesn’t say it. He wants to be angry about it, but he knows that it won’t do anything. Doesn’t mean he’s not jealous, though. “I don’t see what’s so bad about being in love,” he says.

“It was less about me and more about him.”

“Why? What did he do?”

“Rallied the old families to overtake the throne,” Sirius says bitterly. 

He laughs and slams his glass back down on the table, and some of the whiskey sloshes over the rim. He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms defensively. 

“The Grangers inherited the throne through a bylaw everyone had forgotten about. Most people were happy, but they’d only been on the island for two generations. They were outsiders. He and his followers claimed the throne belonged to the island rather than new blood, nevermind that he himself is from new blood through his father.”

“So they cursed you… because…” Harry trails off, still unsure why.

“King Granger found out, called me a dog for being with him, and had me cursed.”

Harry grimaces, leans back on his hands in the grass. “So where’s he now? Was your… partner, was he cursed as well?”

“No, no, he was exiled.” Sirius stares at his hands.

Oh! The court magician. “Well… I mean, he could’ve been locked up,” Harry says.

Sirius shakes his head but doesn’t comment on it further. “So, long story short, I can’t go.”

“What happens when you enter Hogwarts?

Sirius laughs, but tiredly, as if the topic exhausts him. “I turn into a bloody dog.”

“No ogres?”

“No ogres, just a dog.”

Harry nods to himself. That doesn’t sound so bad, except that the castle seems to play a big role in people’s lives here. “Will you show me?”

* * *

“What, you think I wouldn’t like you anymore now?” Harry tells the dog. “You’re actually really cute as a dog, you dumb _fuck_ ,” he says fondly. He leans down, embraces Sirius the dog and kisses him between the ears. “Idiot.”

* * *

_There is no competing with ghosts._

_In another universe, Harry’s love would have been enough for both of them._

_But this is not that universe._

* * *

The ferry is slowly loading up with cars once more, though not quite as many as on the trip to Hogsmeade. The ferry goes once per day, so if you miss it you’re out of luck for the day. Harry wishes he could somehow accidentally keep missing the ferry for days on end, _forever_ , but things don’t work that way. 

It feels like a horrible day despite the beautiful weather. It doesn’t feel fair.

Sirius hugs him close, then kisses him in front of _everyone_. Harry blushes but kisses him back just as enthusiastically, knowing that it’s going to be a while before they see each other again.

“Okay, okay!” Hermione says. “We _get_ it.” She was a bit miffed that Harry hadn’t shown up for the third ball, but she understood once he explained that, well, _Sirius_ happened.

Harry presses his face into Sirius’ neck. “I’m going to miss you.”

“You’ll be fine.” Sirius puts his hands in Harry’s pockets. “I, on the other hand, will miss you very much,” he says solemnly, then leans in for another kiss, and then another one, until they’re just the sort of chaste pecks that Harry has seen couples do.

Harry looks at those gathered to see him off. Sirius, Princess Hermione, the Weasleys, Remus, even the two of the three Black sisters came to say goodbye. He feels warm all over, because he has people now, he has a life to look forward to, on the island. He carries Sirius’ cellphone number in his coat pocket even if he’s not allowed to take the memories of the beautiful magic with him, whatever _that_ means.

“Hey,” Harry whispers.

“Hey,” Sirius echoes. He doesn’t smile. 

Harry finally manages to extract himself from Sirius’ warm embrace. “I have to go.”

“Always so responsible,” Sirius says. “You’ll be fine,” he promises after one last kiss.

* * *

“And where have _you_ been?” Aunt Petunia says sharply.

Harry shrugs, scratches his head. “Mostly in my hotel room,” he says. 

Hogsmeade Island had been a disappointment, that’s for sure. Staying at the hotel had been so unstimulating that the four weeks he spent on the island have blurred together into a single blob of boredom.

A large wave crashes against the side of the ferry, and neither Harry nor Petunia manage to get away in time. She screeches, and Harry ducks away to deal with it _away_ from her, lest she take it out on him. He takes off his coat with a groan, then frowns when he feels something in his coat pocket that shouldn’t be there.

It’s a slip of paper, but whatever it said, it’s unreadable now.

* * *

_Many kilometres away, a man sits in a chair near a window, with neither a history nor an identity._

_There’s the outline of a small star etched on the inside of his wrist, the lines so thin they’re barely there. He rubs it slowly with his thumb as he does every morning and every evening, as if touching it will magically fill in all the cracks in his memory._

_At night he stares up at the stars, his fingers pressed against his pulse point, and he wonders which of them was his._

  
  


~fin.

**Author's Note:**

> You made it! Thanks for reading and I hope you have a nice day <3


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